I click the file open and stare at the name beside hers.
Timur Volkov.
Shit.
I sit back in my chair and exhale slowly. I know Timur Volkov’s name well enough. He’s a piece of work. Vicious, greedy, a relic from an older generation of Bratva men who think fear is loyalty and violence is love.
Seeing Sima’s sister bound to a man like that… It makes too much sense. No wonder Sima ran. That she flinched every time the wordmarriagecame up.
If this was her sister’s life for the last thirteen years, I can only imagine what it’s done to her. What horrors she’s endured.
Worse, Sima can imagine it, too. She didn’t need to know who her husband was in detail to realize how bad he’d be for her. Even at twelve, she was the smartest person in the room.
And the kindest. Always, always the kindest.
I find the date of the marriage. The picture attached to the news clipping.
Lara is eighteen in the photo. Barely more than a girl, standing next to a man old enough to be her grandfather. His hand is on her waist, his face cruel in triumph.
Lara’s expression says everything she couldn't say out loud. Her smile seems frozen and forced. She’s terrified underneath, and anyone with an ounce of compassion would have put a stop to this madness right then and there.
Clearly, Nikolai Danilo didn’t even have that. Not even when it came to his own fucking daughters.
I keep scrolling, but the public information ends fast. Timur always kept his private life buried deep, like most men of his kind. What I find is surface-level at best: no addresses, no current photo, just whispers and speculation.
Not enough.
I grab my phone and call Luka. “I need a file run,” I say. “Timur Volkov. Old Bratva money. Married to a woman named Lara Danilo thirteen years ago. Find out where they are and who they’re with.”
I can practically hear Luka’s frown through the phone. “Lara Danilo? You mean she’s Sima’s?—?”
“Sister,” I fill in. “Is that going to be a problem?”
For a second, he hesitates. I know I’m asking a lot of him. The Danilos have hurt him worse than most.
But despite that, he still had Sima’s back when it mattered. That’s the kind of man I need on a job like this. One who’ll beable to look past the blood feud between our Bratvas and do the right thing.
I can’t think of anybody better.
Finally, Luka exhales. When he speaks next, his voice is certain. “No, boss. I’ll do it.”
“Good. I’ll expect updates.”
I hang up and look back at the photo on the screen. Lara’s lips are twisted up into a parody of a smile, the best she could do under the circumstances, but her eyes don’t lie. They’re wide with fear.
I recognize that kind of look. The one that says you’ve already learned not to hope for rescue.
If she’s alive, I’ll find her. If she’s not, I’ll find whoever stole her future.
Either way, I’m not stopping until I know the truth.
Afterwards, I head to the warehouse. My men are already gathered when I arrive. The air is thick with smoke. The low hum of voices cuts off as soon as they see me walk in.
Mikhail and Ivan are at the far end of the table. They seem to be arguing quietly over something until they notice me. Ivan straightens, while Mikhail leans back, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at his mouth like he’s waiting for a show. He knows what my appearance here means.
Payback.
The last two months, I’ve been preoccupied. With Sima, Lilia, the odds and ends of the business.
